


Drink On It

by nbarker1990



Category: The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:12:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbarker1990/pseuds/nbarker1990
Summary: Might make a memory that we won't forgetSo let's just drink on it...





	Drink On It

**Normality**

 

Her feet (three toenails painted red, the others black, he notes) are in his lap and her hands wrapped around the bottle. It’s always like this now when they manage to find time together, and while it’s comfortable and home and restful, he doesn’t mind admitting that sometimes it feels like maybe he’s not _enough_ for her. Which is a sobering thought.

 

Miranda takes another swig, and unceremoniously hauls their newest puppy up onto the couch, dropping its little furry body right onto his stomach. “Hey there, baby girl,” he croons, and yeah, maybe he feels like this isn’t enough for him anymore as well. God forbid he bring up the idea of expanding their little family, though, especially when she’s half-way to drunk; he’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

 

“Hon, I was thinking maybe we need another kitten,” she says, and he tries to bite back the bitter thoughts in his head. Blake loves indulging his wife, he really does, but every night they spend together these days is filled with alcohol, critters, and a sense of distance, and it’s putting a real dint in what he’d considered to be a pretty contented life.

 

“And who’ll be looking after it when you leave for tour again next week?” he asks.

 

She glares at him, and he looks away, takes a sip of beer from his own bottle.

 

 

**Anger**

 

They’re sitting on the bed in her trailer, her arms crossed defensively as he shoots question after question at her not-even-all-that guilt-ridden face. And honestly, what the fuck? Why does she get to be the one acting wronged when he’s literally just caught her making out with her manager?

 

“Can you at least tell me why?” he asks, and yeah, he knows his voice is broken up and beaten down, but… “Please,” he begs, because if they have any chance of fixing this whatsoever –

 

“I think I love him” she admits and maybe he’s the worst husband in the world because actually, no, he doesn’t think he even wants to try and make this work now, hearing those words. “I didn’t mean to,” Ran admits, and it’s like a strange echo of a conversation he remembers having with Kaynette all those years ago, and he hates himself a little. Or even a lot.

 

There’s two bottles of tequila on the nightstand, and he doesn’t even like the stuff, but Blake desperately wants to down them both and just obliterate this entire miserable wreck of a day.

 

“Blake, don’t, don’t do that,” she insists, apparently noticing the way he keeps glancing to her booze. He’s not sure if she’s saying it because she cares, but things are so fucked up right now that he reckons it’s likely because she wants it all for herself.

 

“I’ll be putting in the paperwork next week. You can have him.” He leaves the room, taking the tequila with him.

 

 

**Loneliness**

 

Adam’s been texting him all night, and he’s so close to telling his friend to stop the pity party. Which would incredibly hypocritical, considering Blake’s literally slouched in front of the television, vodka in one hand and dog nuzzling the other. “’m not much fun, am I, girl?” he asks, giving her a quick scratch behind the ears. “You can blame your mistress for that one, I’m afraid.”

 

He glances at his phone, rolling his eyes as another message comes through.

 

     _Behati wants to know if you wanna come over for dinner_

 

     Back in OK for a few days so thanks but no thanks

 

     _Oh. Well let me know when you get back. We miss u_

 

Blake shoves the phone in between the cushions on the couch, and tries to ignore how much he hates no longer being part of a ‘we’, an ‘us’. It’s actually one of the things it’s taken longest to get used to, and every single time he fucks up and reverts to it, the sympathetic looks by his friends and colleagues are like daggers in an open wound.

 

He takes a long drink, wonders how many bottles he can get through before he passes out and can forget about his shitty life for a blessed few hours of sleep.    

 

 

**Solidarity**

 

Their wine glasses make a pleasant clinging sound, and he grins. “To surviving cheating spouses.”

 

“Not the most cheerful toast I’ve ever heard,” Gwen says, her legs curling up under her where they sit in his trailer. “And yet - ”

 

“Wholly accurate,” he finishes, taking a sip of the deep red his colleague had brought for them both to share. It had been an unspoken agreement, really, that they’d stay behind after the day’s work. Gwen had mentioned in one of their e-mails (appearing in his inbox with increased regularity) last week that her ex had the boys for a few days, so he’d suggested hanging out, talking things out in person instead of by venting online.

 

“I don’t usually drink this much,” she says, taking another sip. “Like I’m not an alcoholic.” She winks. “Not like you, cowboy.”

 

Blake finds himself bristling at that and honestly, he shouldn’t be because he built that image himself, right? And yet he finds himself leaning forward. “I’m not, y’know. I wouldn’t.”

 

Gwen frowns, puts a hand on top of his (and god oh god, would she back off if he just entwined their fingers, because he wants to so badly right now). “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I just, do you mind the jokes about it?”

 

“Not on TV. But I don’t want ya thinking I’m irresponsible, like, y’know, there gets a point where drinking yourself to death just isn’t all _that_ cool.”

 

Her laugh isn’t a delicate wisp, but loud and warm and he could literally listen to it forever.

 

He watches as she finishes the glass, and casually wipes her mouth, his lips stained red from the wine and her lipstick. Blake points to the bottle. “Another?”

 

 

**Lust**

 

He’s been cradling his bottle for what feels like hours now, and it’s half because it’s what’s expected of him and half because he’s desperately avoiding touching Gwen. His nerve endings literally light up around her, and watching his lover from across the room, all he wants to do is go over there and claim her.

 

Which sounds somewhat caveman-ish, he’ll admit, but god…

 

Adam’s shoulder bumps against his, and Blake rolls his eyes at the kissy noises his best friend makes. “Dude, I can literally see the hearts in your eyes. Goin’ to tell me what’s up?”

 

“If I say no, will you get off my back?”

 

Three hours later, he’s pulling into Gwen’s drive, parking his car in the spot that she now always leaves for him. She meets him at the door with open arms, still wearing the cocktail dress she’d chosen for the party earlier in the evening.

 

He wants to strip it right off.

 

“I love when you look at me like that,” she says, tugging him inside and closing the door behind him. “You’re like so hot, y’know. ‘m gonna ban your stylist from putting gel in those curls though.” She kisses him, wet and deep, against the wall. “Actual crime,” she murmurs against his mouth.

 

“What’s a crime is you still wearing clothes, and me not being in you right this freaking second.”

 

 

**Beginnings**

 

“Is it bad that I literally want to text every person in my phone that you’re my boyfriend now? I feel like a teenager, for god’s sake.”

 

“If you do, you’d better be using that awesome cowboy picture emoji thing. I love that shit.”

 

His girlfriend (because it’s been official all of a few minutes now, and he’s actually a little giddy) laughs, her head falling against his shoulder where they sit in the private corner booth of the small Italian restaurant they’re eating at.

 

“Seriously, your parents gonna be okay with this? And the boys?”

 

Her hand comes to rest on his knee and squeezes gently. “They’re all gonna love you as much as I do, y’know. Kinda inevitable.” She takes a sip of his wine (he’s drinking less than he ever has, and he’s feeling way healthier, if he’s honest), and then stabs her fork into his pasta. “You’re going to have to get used to me because a terrible person and stealing all your food, by the way.”

 

“I can deal,” he says, taking a bite of hers. “By the way,” he continues through a mouthful of spaghetti, “I’m pretty sure you’ve never looked so beautiful as you do right now.”

 

Her face lights up and maybe this is too soon to think this, but Blake reckons he’d be content if he got to see that expression every day for the rest of his life.


End file.
